Annie, are you okay?
by Hook comma Jamie
Summary: In which Noah Puckerman strives to annoy Emma Pillsbury, his new biweekly councilor; avoid Will Schuester, his newly extra-caring Glee coach; and generally get the hell out of Rachel Berry's way as she is forced to show her badass. Puckleberry.
1. The Gift of Annoying Gingers

_'Eyy Gleeks. … I WROTE YOU A STORY. After Puck threw his little hissy fit in the last episode I was sorta like 'Nu-uh honey, that shit's not gonna fly. If this were an actual school, you'd end up in the guidance councilor's office so fast you'd get whiplash. Say, who is the guidance councilor at Mckinley?' _

_And the rest is history… _

_And by history, I mean this story._

* * *

Truth be told; Noah Puckerman scared the living hell out of Emma Pillsbury. Not that she would ever admit that out loud because she prided herself on her clean vocabulary as well as her clean hands, but Noah Puckerman was just… he was just… Well, he was dirty. The things he said, the things he did, even down to the way he looked at people; there was just something so _unsanitary _about him. She didn't think he was something even she could clean.

"Will," Emma compulsively straightened and re-straightened the folders on her desk, the intense need for everything to be _absolutely under her control _rearing its ugly head as she became distressed with the news that one William Schuester was attempting to relay to her. "I just don't think that meeting with me will really be able to help him."

"You'll do great, Emma," Will shot her an encouraging smile and Emma's heart spluttered a little bit because it was almost as if she couldn't physically bring herself tosay no to him. "I really want to help him. You should have seen him in Figgins' office, Em. He was throwing things everywhere and then shouted about how none of us cared about him." Will rubbed at his forehead. "I just think that if anyone can really show that they care, it's you."

"I thought that Artie was trying being a good influence on him." Emma said hopefully.

"Emma," Will leveled a look at her. "He used to lock Artie in the port-a-potti es."

Emma visibly shuddered. Portable bathrooms were the things of her nightmares.

"I just want him to have a future." Will looked at her searchingly. "I want _him _to want to have a future. Emma, _he doesn't think I care. _He doesn't think anyone cares about him. He was willing to pick up and leave his mother and sister."

Emma sincerely didn't want to think '_Does he realize that's just what his father did?' _but she'd read his file only about a dozen times before and it was impossible not to think, really. This was the boy who was so determined to not be a deadbeat to the baby he impregnated his best friend's girlfriend with despite the fact that aforementioned Quinn Fabray had ensured him in none too subtle terms that the baby was not '_his'_.

"I suppose… I suppose I could talk to him." She swallowed and wondered if the boy in question would be terribly offended if she wrapped her chairs before he came in.

And Will smiled at her and thanked her and she couldn't hear any of it becauseit had really just struck her that she'd agreed to council Noah 'Puck' Puckerman twice a week. This epiphany became even more daunting when she stopped to think just how _thrilled _Puck was going to be with the situation.

* * *

Puck's general mantra for life was 'Fuck that noise'. Math? Fuck that noise. Grades? Fuck that noise. Being a generally kind individual? _Fuck that noise._ So it was really no surprise that when a small, mousy office aide slipped into his English class and handed off a note to him that dictated he makes his way down to Crazy-Pillsbury's office, his first thought was '_Fuck that noise' _before promptly crumpling up the pass into a ball and shooting a sweet basket into the trash can.

And when another office aide interrupted his next period history class his first thought was _Fuck that noise _before tearing the paper into little bits and flicking them at the back of Finn's head.

New passes didn't come for him in the next two periods and he was pleased with himself, thinking that perhaps he'd gotten his message across. And then one came in the beginning of math.

"Damnit." He glowered down at the little slip of paper. "Bitch plays hard ball." It wasn't a big secret among the faculty of Mckinley that Puck absolutely despised math. The fact that he had started showing up at all was a small miracle in itself, mostly due to fear of getting his waffles stolen all the time in juvie again (Waffles are motherfucking delicious. Shut your face.) but here she was, _offering him a totally acceptable out. _"Damnit." He repeated, 'cause he was totally gonna go for it.

"Oh, hello, Puck." Ms. Pillsbury greeted somewhat skittishly as he threw open her office door without knocking.

"You wanted to see me?" He flopped down into the chair in front of her desk and he noticed her wince a little bit as the dirt from his boots knocked off into the carpet. He contemplated for a moment grinding it in so that she'd have to came back with a toothbrush or some shit later to get it all out, but he wasn't really in the mood for being a douche just for the sake of being a douche.

Don't get him wrong, though. If she pissed him off he was totally gonna stomp his muddy boots on out the door.

"Yes." She cleared her throat and reorganized a stack of papers on her desk. "Some of your teachers have been expressing some serious concerns for you and—"

"Bullshit." He interrupted.

"Excuse me?" She looked up sharply, shocked.

"Bullshit." He repeated. "They don't care about me." And it was mostly true. They thought he was a Lima Loser. The mother of his child thought he was a Lima Loser. Everyone in that whole damn school thought he was a Lima Loser.

Maybe it wouldn't have made sense to them if he ever tried to explain it (which would never happen. Why? Because fuck that noise, that's why.) but he _was _going to get out of there and the only way to make sure that they all _knew _it was to make sure they always remembered his name. That one day in ten years when they heard 'Noah Puckerman' they would think 'That kid who used to beat the shit out of me in high school that I was so sure wasn't going anywhere? _Fuck!' _The closer somebody was to getting the hell out of here; the more opportunity someone had to look down their noses at him; the more he terrorized them, because he wanted them to _memorize _his name.

"Why would you think that?" Emma tried to smile encouragingly but she couldn't really get over the fact that she had no idea where his shoes had been. She forced herself to focus on Puck's words instead of contemplating the amount of Febreeze it was going to take to get the smell of grass, dirt and tobacco that he radiated out of her office.

"'Cause it's true." Puck shrugged simply. "But, whatever. I guess I'm used to it. And Artie's being all cool now—"

"Is Artie really helping you?" Emma interrupted.

Puck shrugged again. "He tries, but there's only so much that one cripple can do with this much Puck."

She stared at him for a few seconds with her crazy eyes and Puck was inexplicably reminded of Rachel's crazy eyes. Where this many crazy people allowed in one building together? Add Coach Sylvester to this shit and you've pretty much got an asylum. He reminded himself to look it up later.

"Okay," Emma cleared her throat and blinked herself out of her state. "The reason I really brought you down here was to ask you about home."

"What?" Puck's attention went completely to her.

"How's your home life?" Emma asked again gently.

"Fine." Puck glared. "Motherfucking _fantastic, _actually."

"So…not good, then?" She smoothed her skirt over her knees.

"The hell do you care?" He muttered to himself.

"People here do care about you, Puck." Emma assured him.

He looked at her like she was crazy.

"Glee club cares about you." She smiled in a reminding tone.

Puck scoffed. "Glee cares about my voice." He continued before she could say anything else. "Football cares about my tackles. Guitar cares about my rockin' ass skills. That's it." He leveled one of his Puckerman Stares of Uncaring at her. "Now that we have this established, can I go?"

"No." Emma said after a moment. "In fact, I think we should meet more often."

"_What?_" He sat up straight faster than his languid posture normally allowed, absolutely indignant. Somebody was about to get mud _all up in her carpet._

"Does twice a week sound good to you?" She asked as she scribbled something down on one of the orange office passes.

"No!" He shouted. _Fuck that noise! _ "It sure as shit doesn't!"

"It's mandatory." She informed him without looking up.

"I don't need to talk about my problems! Especially not with you!" Talking about problems was strictly non-badass. And Noah Puckerman was _totally fucking badass. _

"If you don't show up your mother will be contacted." She tore the pass off the pad and finally looked him in the eye.

He clenched and unclenched his fist.

"It will get you out of math." She bartered, holding out the pass to him.

He glared at her before standing, snatching the small square of paper out of her hand, and marching straight to the door without a word, making sure to put extra emphasis in the steps of his boots.

"I'll see you Thursday, then." Ms. Pillsbury called after him. He slammed the door shut behind him just in time to collide with something short.

"Oh! Noah!" Rachel Berry stumbled backwards a step after accidentally crashing into his chest. "You should really be more aware of your surroundings. You could have easily damaged me, or even yourself."

"The only way I could 'damage' myself on you is I tripped over your crazy dwarf ass." He grumbled, hoping it would shut her up but already knowing that _nothing shuts up Rachel Berry. _

"It really isn't politically correct to call people 'dwarves' anymore." She admonished. "The more correct term is 'midgets' or, preferably 'little people', both of which, I should inform you, I am not."

"Right." He rolled his eyes and waited for her to move so he could leave.

She stood there, looking at him expectantly.

"What?" He finally demanded.

"I am waiting for you to move so that I can speak with Ms. Pillsbury about the lowering standards on the quality of student interactions at this school." Puck had a moment to wonder how the hell the 'quality of student interactions at this school' could have possibly gotten any_ worse_ for the girl that the majority of the school tormented despite the fact she was Finn's girl before a more puzzled expression came across her face that was so perfectly damned _puzzled _Puck only had to guess she practiced it in her mirror every night. "Come to think of it, why were _you _in Ms. Pillsbury's office?"

"I was in trouble." He fabricated quickly because like hell did he need Berry knowing he had just gotten shanghaied into _counseling _with that crazy eyed clean freak.

"You're a terrible liar, Noah." Rachel informed him. "I understand if you don't wish to inform me of the true nature of your visit with our school's guidance councilor. That sort of thing is private, I suppose." She shot him a brief, dazzling smile that made Puck want to punch himself in his face. "Could you please relocate yourself so I can get to the door?" She asked.

"Yeah." He realized he still hadn't moved, though it wasn't really an uncommon occurrence in the face of Rachel Berry's crazy. One grew so transfixed on the fact that she didn't stop to take breaths when she talked that you just sort of forgot to listen and put all your concentration in taking deeper sympathy breaths so that you forgot where you were, too.

"Thank you, Noah." She smiled at him again before flouncing (because was there really another word for it?) into Ms. Pillsbury's office.

He watched after her for a second and loitered next to the door while he was busy absolutely not eavesdropping. He was… brooding… in manly anguish... and stuff. It definitely was _not_ because Rachel Berry had the biggest pair of lady balls he had ever seen, and anything that sent her scampering to Pillsbury's office without the entourage of her usual diva-fit was something he really wanted to hear.

"Hello, Ms. Pillsbury. Are you alright?"

"What? Oh, yes. There's just some dirt in my carpet and I happened to have a toothbrush and… What can I help you with today, Rachel?"

"I think we should discuss Jacob Ben Israel and his growing boldness in his sexual assaults on my person."

"Rachel, we've talked about Jacob before and you said that you thought you could take care of it yourself."

"…He offered to kill his own parents in exchange for my body."

"…Oh… I can see how that might be a little… disconcerting."

"Hey, Puck!" Puck jumped as Mike slapped a hand down on his back. "What crawled up your ass and died?" He laughed as Puck only glared at him.

"Shut it, Chang." Puck punched him in the shoulder. "I've been having a shit day." He grumbled.

Mike launched into an intricate description of how he totally understood because his pop and lock was off today. Puck didn't pay any attention.

He was busy thinking up ways to make Pillsbury's hour and a half stuck in a room with him a living _hell. _

She'd brought his mother into this. As far as Puck was concerned, anything that came next was completely justified.

* * *

_Yay! My first chapter of my first Glee story! Did it suck? Please tell me if it sucked._


	2. The Art of Cursing Coaches

Truth be told; Rachel Berry scared the living hell out of Emma Pillsbury a little bit too. This was the girl that had gotten Sandy Ryerson fired. This was the girl who had sent Sunshine to a crackhouse. This was the girl who was literally capable of _anything _she put her mind to. Right now, Emma was really just thankful that this 'anything' was Broadway in place of say, conquering a small third world country and training the army as a group of singing, dancing mercenaries.

"I'm just flustered with what to do with Jacob." Rachel admitted, looking unusually lost. "I was sure I was doing a fair job dissuading him from openly approaching me, but I suppose I might have spurred him into action when I wore those horribly provocative clothes after my Britney Spears delusion."

"What were you doing before to keep him away?" Emma asked.

"I confront him." Rachel frowned. "Isn't that the suggested method to approaching these matters?"

"Yes, well," Emma folded her hands into her lap. "Usually only one confrontation is needed."

"Oh." Rachel frowned again, obviously displeased with having done something incorrectly.

"Now I guess we should talk about what more you'd like to do now." Emma looked over at her wall of pamphlets, searching for 'Sexual Harassment and You: The Trail process is nothing to be afraid of!'

"More?" Rachel repeated, left alone to her thoughts as Ms. Pillsbury stood to collect from The Pamphlet Wall. More? She thought that she had been doing 'more' by asking Ms. Pillsbury's advice on her next course of action. _More?_

"Of course!" She shot up out of her chair. "I must rise past simple verbal confrontations and take a more aggressive role in forcing him to desist! It makes perfect sense! I didn't find success in Glee until I took a more aggressive role in the selection process of the teacher- though I still fully deny falsely accusing Mr. Ryerson of anything. And it wasn't until after Sunshine naively followed my obviously false directions into that crackhouse did I really earn the true respect- after I earned the forgiveness- of my fellow Glee clubbers! And, no, I can't tell how I was aware the exact location of a crackhouse in Lima, though I will tell you that it was an eye-opening chain of events and a group of methamphetamine addicts can harmonize quite well when given the proper incentive. Oh, thank you, Ms. Pillsbury for helping me realize that my true potential can only be properly expressed with drastic actions to prove I mean what I say! Why hadn't I thought of this before? Obviously I've been being far too subtle! I'll move this to the top of my 'Self Improvement' list!" She collected her things hastily, suddenly filled with an excited vigor. "I would shake your hand, but I know you would prefer that I didn't!" And with a few more hurried 'Thank you's, Rachel Berry practically skipped out the door, her periwinkle dress kicking up in her haste, leaving Emma alone in her office, holding onto her pamphlet dumbly.

"What have I done?" She asked herself, doe eyes wide with terror.

* * *

"Noah!"

Can you really blame him for cringing a little bit? He'd had an absolute crap day. After leaving Ginger's office he'd arrived back in math just in time to fail a quiz. Then he'd had gym, and though usually during gym he was a beast, Biest (Ha. See what he did there? He can be fucking clever when he wants to.) had something shoved farther up her ass than usual and Puck had spent the majority of the block running laps and the rest of it wondering if he could possibly die from running laps. Then he might have back sassed her a little bit and gotten kicked out altogether, which was the only reason he was running early for Glee.

And also Rachel's voice just made him cringe a little bit sometimes.

"Noah!" She cried again and he reluctantly turned to find her running, literally _sprinting_, towards him.

"Whoah there," He caught her with a hand on each shoulder as she stumbled a bit in her attempt to come to a stop in front of him. "What's the hurry, Berry?" He chuckled as she huffily puffed her disheveled hair out of her eyes. "Shit, the choir room's not on fire, is it?"

"That's not funny," Rachel snipped, taking another moment to comb her hair back into place with her fingers. "I've been looking for you everywhere."

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the lockers, cocking an eyebrow in her direction.

"I need your help." She stated.

"No." He turned away and started making his way towards the choir room. Rachel Berry had only asked for his help once before and that fiasco had ended up with him costarring in a 'Run, Joey, Run' video alongside Jesse St. Fucktard and Frankenteen. _And _she had refused to make out with him, which was all sorts of messed up.

"But, Noah!" She hurried after him, working to keep up with his longer strides. "This is truly important! I need you assistance in my quest for self improvement!"

He scoffed. Who the hell has a quest for self improvement? "Are you kidding me?"

"I can assure you that I am quite serious." She muscled her way in front of him and fixed him with her 'I Can Assure You That I Am Quite Serious' glare.

"My answer's still no." He crossed his arms over his chest and straightened up so that he towered over her, though he was still pretty sure that the only thing that actually intimidated Rachel Berry was singing voices.

They both glared each other down.

"Fine." She finally snipped, pulling away. "I'll simply find another tutor."

_Tutor? What? _

"Tutor? What?"

"Yes." Rachel huffed as she turned away. "A tutor. I can't be expected to simply learn how to be- how would you say it?- 'A badass' without proper instruction, can I?" And she stomped away before Puck's brain could really finish processing the information.

Rachel Berry was going to be a badass?

_Was he in some sort of alternate dimension?_

"Hey, bitch," Santana hip checked him into a locker as way of greeting. "Were you just talking to Berry out in the open?"

"I don't know." He breathed. "Am I awake right now?"

Santana punched him in the ribs.

"Ow! Fuck, San!"

"Yeah, you're awake." Santana smirked to herself.

"Shit." He ran his hand through his scant amount of hair. "Then you gotta do me a favor."

"I don't gotta do shit for you." Santana looked at him reproachfully.

"Jesus _Christ, _would you just listen!" He rolled his eyes. "Someone's put it in Berry's head that she's got to be a badass—"

"The hell?" Santana interrupted, a small fear of god stirring deep in her stomach.

"Yeah. I don't know. But when I find out who it was, I'm gonna beat the shit out of 'em." He assured her. "But I need you to keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn't hurt herself or some shit."

"Why don't you?" She snorted at him.

"Because I'm not a chick." He waved his hands at her dismissively. "Isn't this in the girl code somewhere? 'Thou shalt not let Rachel Berry get in too deep'?"

Santana glared at him skeptically for a few moments, a smirk playing across her lips. "That's cute. You care about her."

"Shit, San!" He slapped a hand over her mouth. "Don't say that out loud! People can fucking hear you! I'm already up to throwing three kids in a dumpster a day; I don't need anybody thinking I can care right now!" He hissed before jerking his hand back. "_Ow! _Did you just bite me?"

"Don't touch my mouth unless I tell you to touch my mouth." Santana ran a finger around the outer edge of her lips to fix her lipgloss. "Yeah, sure, I'll watch out for your midget."

"She's not my-"

"C'mon," Santana rolled her eyes and shoved him forward. "We're gonna be late for Glee."

Oddly enough they weren't late for Glee. But that didn't even measure on the scale of odd things happening in the choir room: namely Mr. Schuester sitting at the paino bench, looking very enthusiatic.

"Hey, Puck!" He greeted.

Puck glanced around, wondering if there was some other Puck to whom he was referring. But, no, he was the only Puck in the room. "...Hey." He took a step backward toward the door.

"Come in, come in!" Schue ushered him forward.

Puck took the few hesitant steps to his seat. "...'Kay."

"Alright you guys!" Mr. Scuester clapped his hands together with a bright smile. "I have a really great idea for what we're going to do this week!" There was a general tittering from the majority of the Glee population. "It's come to my attention recently that I may not be giving all of you the attention you deserve," It was around this point where Puck got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. "So I really just wanted to mix things up this week and give you all your chances to shine." He grinned. "I just want to show you guys how much I care about you and want you to succeed."

_Don't you fucking _even_, Schuester. _Puck thought vhemently as he attempted to glare a hole straight through his chipper face.

"So, I've decided to assign you partners," _Don't. _"with someone I think will really help you realize your true potential," _You. _"someone who can really bring out your inner star," _Fucking. _"y'know? Make you see your self worth." _Even! "_So, first thing's first: Puck, you'll work with Rachel." And then the bastard had the balls to shoot Puck a smile like he was doing him a favor.

Puck groaned out loud and slumped so low in his chair his back was laying flat on the seat as he listened to Rachel start up an argument with the newly extra-caring Schester that he knew she was gonna lose.

This was going to be one hell of a week.


	3. The Science of Badassery

_Sup darlings? Sorry I didn't get a chance to leave you all a note on the last chapter about how much I love you all (a whole lot) 'cause I had zero time and a bad case of the 'I hate everybody's. The conflicting sentiments didn't work well together. _

_But! Here I am now! And I'm saying I love you! Like, a lot. In fact- marry me. IN FULL VIEW OF THE FANFICTION WORLD, I JAMIE HOOK ASK YOU, THE WONDERFUL READER, TO ACCEPT THIS CHAPTER AS A TOKEN OF MY COMMITMENT AND holy crap it is waaay past my bedtime. _

* * *

If there was anything in this world that Rachel Berry prided herself on other than her obvious talent, it was her research abilities. These abilities were the very thing that had led her to her living room, sitting in front of Daddy's flat screen television, stacks of DVDs towering around her and a determined gleam in her eye. She _was _going to be a badass. And Clint Eastwood, John Wayne, Bruce Willis, Harrison Ford, Sylvester Stallone, and any other 'Badass' movie hero were going to be her teachers. She was studying for a role now, and Rachel was absolutely determined to _live and breathe _that role.

However, she didn't expect it to distract her. She was just going to watch one movie and take a few notes before she did her homework. Really.

_Really. _

* * *

"She's a little out of it," The big black one (Puck was pretty sure this one was 'Daddy', but he'd been wrong before) smiled apologetically at Puck before ushering him in the door. "She's been sitting on that couch for five hours and I don't think she's even moved."

"Whatever." Puck scowled. _She _had fucking invited _him_ here after school, basically informing him that if they were going to do something they were going to do it _well _or she was going to rip his balls of or something, and _holy hell _he was not arguing with that much crazy.

He followed 'Daddy' (Dad? Hell if he knew) down the hall and was slightly surprised when he wasn't immediately led up the stairs. He hadn't actually been anywhere else in Rachel's house than her bedroom, so it was a little adventure in itself when he was led to what he assumed to be a living room, though it was too cluttered with movies to really tell, with Rachel sitting on the middle of the couch with a notepad balanced on her knee.

"You two have fun." Puck was almost positive 'Daddy' winked at him before vanishing back out the door, but he didn't have time to really analyze it as he realized what the movies were lying around the room.

If Puck had ever made a list of movies that Rachel Berry should _never ever _be allowed to see, _every movie in that goddamn room _would have been on it.

_"What does Marcellus Wallace look like?"_

_"Wh-what?"_

Puck's head snapped up and it finally registered what Rachel was watching that had her dead to the rest of the world.

_"Say 'what' again. Say 'what' again! I dare you! I double-dare you, motherfu—"_

"Berry!" Puck threw himself at the television screen, slapping his hand down on the power button in some sort of knee-jerk reaction he had to the word 'fuck' and Rachel Berry being in the same room. It was… weird. Unnatural. "The hell were you watching?" He demanded.

"Pulp Fiction." Rachel looked a little dazed, as if suddenly snatched out of another world to which she was fully involved with. "Oh!" She finally seemed to realize who was in front of her. "Noah! I am very sorry, I simply forgot all about inviting you over to work on our assignment. I lost track of the time, which, I can assure you, is really quite unlike me and— what are doing?"

"You are not watching these." Puck decreed as he swept up _Sin City_ and _Fight Club_ and added them to the growing stack in his arms. _Thank Holy Fuck _she hadn't gotten around to watching _Repo: The Genetic Opera_ yet. The combination of a musical and badassery might have made her head explode. Or the rest of the world.

"Yes I am." Rachel protested, standing up in her indignance, notepad clattering to the floor for him to snatch up and away from her before she had the chance. "In fact, I find John Travolta's performance an ideal example for my new goal of being both an accomplished singer and actress as well as a… a 'badass'."

"Stop saying that." Puck cringed as he started stuffing some of the DVDs down his shirt for safe storage away from her little hands. "I don't know _any _badasses that wear _pink argyle skirts._"

"Oh." Rachel looked down at her nearly microscopic skirt. "I suppose I will have to purchase some trousers."

"Jesus Christ! You don't own any pants?"

"I always thought that pants would make me appear more masculine," Rachel defended. "And with the majority of our school already addressing me with various crass implications that I was male, I wasn't about to encourage them by wearing pants." She huffed. "So I opted instead to wear more feminine attire." She smoothed down her skirt.

Puck stared at her. Next time he saw Quinn he was going to punch her in the face. Or thank her. He hadn't decided yet.

"May I have my notes back at the very least?" Rachel demanded as she held out her hand, palm open.

It was then that Puck glanced down at the notepad he had swiped from her. Scrawled across the yellow legal paper in her curly script was the title _'The Science of Badassery'. _ After words she had broken it down into the different types of badasses _(Hero, Antihero_) the reason why they become badass _(Vengeance, Rescue, Selfish reasons)_ and the subsections off of _that (For a lover, for a family member, for a stranger, any combinations of the three)_ the first response to a threat_ (Violence, Witty retort, Warning, Silence)_ and then a grading scale for the threats that they issued next to any quotes she had deemed important enough to jot down.

"Rachel…" Puck drawled. "This is…" _really crazy. _

"Genius?" Rachel snatched her notes out of his hands. "I know. I think I'm going to have to add in a section on whether they are deceased by the end of the film or not, and whether it was in a noble manner."

Puck could only stare at her again. The girl was legit insane. She was probably going to murder him and mount his 'hawk on the wall or some shit.

"Noah!" Rachel snapped her fingers in front of his face, calling his name for what appeared to be the third or fourth time.

"What?" His hand flew instinctually to his scalp and all of the movies he had been planning on taking with him tumbled to the floor.

"Can we just work on our project?" She asked, looking more than a little miffed that he'd dumped about fifty movies on her feet.

"Sure." He shrugged.

"Alright." She nodded and made to turn away before stopping herself and turning back to him. "I want my movie back." She stated.

"What movie?" He crossed his arms over his stomach.

Rachel rolled her eyes as she reached forward and faster than he could comprehend she had wrestled _Dirty Harry _out from underneath of his shirt.

"You are a child!" She informed him over her shoulder as she stomped away, taking Harry with her.

Puck was still reeling from the fact that Rachel had just kinda sorta undressed him a little bit.

And also the fact that she was bat-shit insane and he had no doubt that she would perfect her Science of Badassery. And when she did, Noah Puckerman was steering_ clear _of that shit.


End file.
